


Call Me Your Home At Night

by Killthespare



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Accidental secret relationship, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Flirting, Growing up together in your early 20s where you have no clue wtf is going on, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Secret Relationship, growing brain cells slowly and with concentrated effort, so so much flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29412987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killthespare/pseuds/Killthespare
Summary: Wherein Hinata and Atsumu make mistakes, get drunk, and get married right before Hinata leaves for Brazil. They unilaterally decide to get a divorce and make sure no one ever finds out. The divorce they never really get around to; the keeping it a secret part goes way, way better than they ever meant.Or a five year guide on how to turn your secret accidental marriage into a marriage that’s accidentally a secret.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Oikawa Tooru, Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu & Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 21
Kudos: 146





	Call Me Your Home At Night

**Author's Note:**

> An AU in that I didn't do timeline math right so now Hinata is two months older than in canon (birthday in April rather than June). Other than making him 20 two months earlier so the timeline can work, this changes nothing. 
> 
> Usual warning for marriages and implied sexual activity while both people were very drunk. Not shown in chapter or later chapters, but implied.

The birds chirped, the sun was bright, and Hinata Shouyou woke up to Regrets™.

The moan that escaped him was the pitiful squeak of a dying man.

….Actually dying. Like his brain could explode and leak out his ears and he’d probably thank it. 

Then again, maybe he was already dead? Alive people didn’t have heads split in half, right? Which sucked because it meant Hinata died before even going to Brazil, or the pro-leagues, or the Olympics, or playing  _ more  _ volleyball. 

The tragedy cleared the fog for him to realize:  _ ….oh, I’m hungover. _

Thinking hurt.

_ No, I’m very, very hungover. _

How did that happen?

His brain shoved up flashes of going away party and Tokyo and drinking and a bunch of people he hadn’t seen since graduation and drinking more and someone suggesting a club and dancing and the wind being really cold and then  _ warmth _ and laughing and gold hair under cheap lights and feeling really, really happy followed by even more drinking.

Okay, so, Hinata was starting to put together the chain of events here.

Which was enough thinking for now. Probably ever--who knows?

Hinata buried himself deep, deep under the covers with the resolution never, ever to think again. Or drink. Or move from the warm, soft sheets of Kenma’s guest futon which in the entire two months he’d lived there had never felt as comfy as it did right now.

Wait.

Kenma’s futon  _ wasn’t  _ this comfortable.

It didn’t have soft sheets! 

Kenma’s futon was a lumpy torture device that Hinata never had the heart to admit whenever Kenma asked how he slept.

Something was wrong here.

Hinata squinted an eye open and oh, nope, high quality white sheets were definitely not Kenma’s style  _ which meant _ , by process of elimination, he wasn’t in Kenma’s apartment  _ which meant _ ….

Hinata had lucked out and should enjoy the comfy bed while he could.

Done.

A lightly pained moan and a shift of the mattress that didn’t come from Hinata sliced through this plan. Hinata bolted up out of the bed and to his feet faster than he’d ever moved outside of a volleyball court. 

_ Ow! _

He cradled his head, finally taking in the larger room and his eyes widened in unmitigated horror.

Okay, re-evaluate.

One: a blond shirtless man with faint red nail marks on his back and his head shoved face first in a pillow, snoring.

Two: a spilled bottle of what looked like champagne laying on what might have been Hinata’s pants.

Three: an unfamiliar hotel room that was  _ way  _ too nice for Hinata not to remember checking into.

….Hmm?

_ Uh….?!? _

**_….UM!!!!_ **

Hinata took a deep breath that didn’t really feel deep enough and updated his massive hangover to feature a one night stand. He, then, almost lost his balance as all the blood in his entire body hightailed it to his rapidly blushing face, still buried deep in his hands and watching the entire scene through his fingers.

It was...It was way too early to deal with this.

So, Hinata didn’t.

Hinata needed water and food and the most powerful painkillers known to man and,  _ then,  _ he’d deal with this. Then, he’d totally handle this. There. It was just like that thing Takeda said. Hinata could do anything he set his mind to with enough caution, effort, and reason.

This probably wasn’t what Takeda meant.

But, it wasn’t like Hinata was planning on telling him.

He thought quiet, ninja-like thoughts as he crept softly as possible out of the bedroom  _ without  _ waking up the other guy and to what he hoped was a bathroom. He found a  _ kitchen _ \--a full kitchen in a hotel room!--because this was apparently less a hotel room and more like a hotel  _ suite  _ and Hinata felt a sympathy stab from his extremely limited bank account.

It was fine. Everything would be alright. His plane ticket and his first month rent at his new apartment were already covered, so….he could figure out the rest when he got to Brazil. Maybe this was, like, a really cheap super fancy hotel suite? That could be a thing.

And, hey, upside: he found his phone!

Alright, yeah, he found it because it was lighting up non-stop and buzzing which was probably not a great sign;  _ but, _ that was probably a good thing, too, because who knows when he would have found it, tossed on the kitchen counter with a shirt thrown over it.

Shielding his eyes and preparing for the sudden light, he clicked it on.

_ 108 Unread Messages. 54 Missed Phone Calls. _

Another not great sign.

He clicked through the messages quickly, wincing as he went, and slowly he later part of his night started to assemble. Apparently some time he’d wandered out of the club--which probably would have been noticed earlier if Kuroo hadn’t left at about the same time and everyone kinda assumed he’d gotten a ride from Kuroo back to Kenma’s. Which he hadn’t. And no one figured out that he, in fact,  _ wasn’t  _ safe and sound with Kenma until about three hours ago this morning….which was when everyone started freaking out.

Face still red, Hinata tried to make himself look as composed as possible to snap a quick picture to the group chat with,  _ Hungover but safe! No need to worry! _

Then, Hinata let his face fall on the nice, cool kitchen counter that had never done anyone wrong ever and adamantly did not think about how now his friends were going to be more strung out than before. And he’d just gotten them to tone it down with the whole  _ but are you sure it has to be Brazil!  _ thing.

Hinata was going to drown in way too much sunscreen and the well meaning worries of concerned friends, he swore.

Which meant he didn’t mention the hotel or the strange man in the bed parts because, really, there were some things his friends just did not need to know.

Hinata wasn’t a kid, anymore. He could make it through anything--both Brazil and whatever was going to go down this morning. 

So, there. Lifting his face off the counter and slapping his cheeks, Hinata refocused. 

Because it could definitely be worse. He was safe. He wasn’t lost or passed out in a ditch and nothing seemed wrong except a hangover and some smaller aches and more distinctive bruises on his chest and hips that, um, weren’t exactly unexpected. Hinata had done the whole hooking up casually thing--not a lot, and definitely more a friend of a friend or someone from the larger volleyball network kind rather than a total stranger. Well, that or--

Anyway, the point was Hinata knew how to do morning afters without making it awkward. Plus, by the overall state of the hotel suite, Hinata suspected he wasn’t the only one suffering from an enormous hangover so, all goes well, he could probably make some quick, easy goodbyes and head back to Kenma’s before anyone really started asking questions on where he’d been instead.

There, he had a plan. 

Pfft, and Tsukishima always said he didn’t think things through!

Positive and determined, Hinata got up to find a glass of water. It was then that he noticed a piece of high-quality official looking paper, sealed in a bag with a receipt and a picture, and placed on the counter with what looked like far more care than their clothes.

Hinata glanced at it.

  
  
  
  


\-------

Miya Atsumu woke up to screaming.

Unfortunately, he also woke up hung over as fuck so if the screaming could just hold on a sec that would be great.

The scream stopped exactly as abruptly as it started.

Okay, cool. Much obliged.

Atsumu cracked open an eye because, huh, he normally didn’t have psychic reality altering scream stopping powers and, on the off chance he’d developed them through binge drinking, he’d like to know about it pronto.

The ceiling was not his apartment ceiling.

Weird.

Atsumu pushed up in a shrug, glancing around his room to find that it was also not his apartment. It took another full minute of incoherent staring for Atsumu to connect that fact to his awful, terrible, no good, very bad yesterday which--judging by the hangover and the screaming thing--looked like it was turning into a pretty shitty today, too, go figure.

He remembered the Jackal’s game in Tokyo--last game of the season and first season where Atsumu  _ finally  _ got to be the starting setter instead of alternating with their other first-string setter that retired last year.

They lost. 

On a fucking blocked spike, too, that Atsumu felt for sure that lanky middleblocker wouldn’t be fast enough to catch. Then, of course, like a cherry on top of the shit day sundae, ‘Samu called to say that the loan for his restaurant went through which was  _ fine  _ and  _ great  _ and Atsumu totally didn’t have to bullshit through a congratulations. Which, of course, Osamu saw through in a second and gave that  _ sigh.  _ And, look, Atsumu wasn’t stupid--it’s not like he didn’t know ‘Samu was done with volleyball, hadn’t heard it plenty by now and even went through with that stupid ass promise.

It was still the fucking nail in the coffin to hear him actually go through with it. To hear that he was moving on with  _ his  _ dream while Atsumu was still here,  _ not quite  _ enough for the national team and  _ not quite  _ enough to help his own team win one stupid game.

Only here’s the cool thing. Atsumu was an adult! An adult that just happened to also be a very well paid pro-athlete and minor sports celebrity that could do things at the end of his shit day like book an outrageously expensive hotel room, decide he was taking an unannounced weekend vacation, get drunk in his hotel suite until he realized it was far too depressing drinking alone, and ordered a ride to some club where….

Actually, that was where his memory cut out.

Anyway, so, the screaming.

Which hadn’t happened again? Seriously, the hotel room was kind of…. _ eerily  _ quite after that. Which meant it was fine, right?

Fuck, what time was it? Where was his phone?

_ Ugh.  _ He was never drinking again. 

Atsumu rubbed his eyes, grabbed some boxes and already got a headstart on regretting that  _ yes,  _ he apparently did have to get up if only to find his phone, take some painkillers, and figure out who the fuck was screaming in his hotel room.

He tripped and nearly fell flat on his face on some stray pants and the wet mushy carpet covered in spilled champagne.

Atsumu tilted his head and blinked.

He didn’t remember grabbing champagne? Or owning pants like this?

Oh.

...oh, shit.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Atsumu buried his face in his arms and whined. Okay, so apparently, he’d had a better night than expected and he really, really, really (times infinity) hoped whoever he brought back wasn’t a fangirl because that was always awkward and led to stupid sports tabloids calling him a heartbreaker and saying dumb things like he cared more about fame than volleyball. Which,  _ come on,  _ it was volleyball! As if there was anything--even sex-- that would ever be amazing as volleyball! Shit, that was probably one of those thoughts Osamu said was weird--

Ugh, fuck, Osamu was going to hold this against him for  _ days  _ if he found out.

Okay, Atsumu, think happy thoughts. Backset. Jump floater. Limbo set. Setter dump.  _ Yeah. _

He could do this. 

Before he got a chance to think about it and praying with all the fervent hope he definitely hadn’t earned, Atsumu left the relative safety of the bedroom.

And came face to face with a short man, only wearing his boxers and staring down at a paper with the most horrified expression Atsumu had ever witnessed.

And Atsumu recognized him.

_ Orange Gremlin! _

_ Wait--no, fuck--Karasuno #10! Shit, wait, what’s his name? You know this….Fuck, fuck, it’s...Hinata! Yes! Hinata Shouyou!  _

Atsumu breathed out. Ha, got it!

And, yeah, that probably took him too long--especially since he sorta remembers going through three months in second year where he was kinda obsessed with the guy. But, hey, it had been two years and he hadn’t really thought about him outside of some occasional mild fantasies and ‘Samu mocking his old habit of fixating on opponents for months at a time. Which...Whatever. He’d obsessed over fucking  _ Sakusa _ for like a month, too.

High school Atumu had a lot of volleyball related feelings and a shit ton of repressed hormones--wires would get crossed for anyone.

Only, apparently, said hangup was standing in his overpriced hotel kitchen and looked like he’d only just noticed Atsumu was standing there, too.

Hinata squinted like he was trying to recognize him--which,  _ rude,  _ nevermind Atsumu just did the same thing.

Still, Atsumu let his shoulders drop.

Okay, cool. Hinata didn’t seem like the type to sell him out to a tabloid--or, well, Atsumu was pretty sure he wasn’t the type and he liked to think he was pretty good at getting a read on people when it came to volleyball. 

That probably translated in real life, right? It could this time.

Point is everything could turn out just fine, without anyone ever having to know Atsumu’s one dumb drunk night. Plus, Atsumu now felt exactly zero regrets scanning his eyes over the man in front of him that, yes, Karasuno’s #10 had grown up hot and even drunk Atsumu had fucking  _ amazing _ taste.

That said, the disconcerting starting thing was getting worse which kinda was killing the whole hot thing.

Or, at least, Atsumu was pretty sure it  _ should  _ kill the hot thing.

Hard to tell through twelve toxic layers of hangover.

Atsumu yawned. “Hey, you want breakfast or something. I’m way too hungover to deal with a talk.” He paused. “Actually, crap, I think I might still be drunk.”

Hinata tilted his head. “M-Miya-san?”

“Yeah, uh, I think you can call me Atsumu by now,” Atsumu muttered, walking over to get a glass of water and downing it. He looked up and Hinata was still fucking staring. “Could you….stop that?”

You know, maybe he was wrong about the whole across the court people reading thing. Maybe this was about to get real weird real quick.

Wordless, Hinata held up a paper.

“What is that,” Atsumu asked.

Hinata handed it to him. “I found it on the counter.”

Atsumu glanced down to find his name, Hinata’s, and--right at the top--the words Marriage Certificate written out in bold.

Atsumu screamed.

  
  
  
  
  
  


\-------

“Seriously, where the fuck is my phone?!” Atsumu whined, sounding halfway to hyperventilating as he haphazardly threw apart the hotel room.

Hinata really,  _ really _ understood the feeling; but, he was booked solid with his own freak out right now. He hunched over the counter, looking down at the certificate and muttering. “This can’t be real, right? Like drunk marriages aren’t actually legal, yeah? You have to remember it or it doesn’t count!” Hinata whirled around. “That’s it! No memory means it doesn’t count! It doesn’t count!”

“Looks pretty legit to me,” Atsumu said, voice going into octaves only dogs could hear. He threw a couch cushion over his shoulder. “Phone, phone, come here phone, be a good phone, I’ll never take you for granted again, phone.”

“But, we don’t have rings!” Hinata thrust his hand forward triumphantly. “We can’t be married if we don’t have rings! Everyone knows that, okay!”

“Yeah? Tell that to the certificate!” Atsumu’s head shot up before he winced like he regretted it. His eyes more than a bit crazed in how they laser focused on Hinata. “What if you called my phone?”

“I don’t have your number.”

Atsumu’s laugh was loud and punched out. “Of fucking course! We’re  _ married _ ; but you don’t have my  _ phone number _ ! Ha! Hahahahha!” Atsumu trailed off into something that didn’t sound like a laugh anymore.

“IT’S A PHONE!” Hinata was just a teensy tiny smidge….way the fuck past the edge of hysteria. “We’ve got bigger problems than the phone!”

Atsumu’s “laugh” cut off abruptly and the look he gave was flat out offended. “Apparently, I got married last night. You really don’t think I took any pictures?  _ Me?  _ It took a picture of  _ Meian’s  _ lunch yesterday. I’d have taken pictures of my own w-wedding. That phone can tell us what happened.”

Hinata whined. “Miya-san--”

“Oh, don’t even,” Atsumu pointed at him. “I cannot handle this if you’re still calling me  _ Miya-san _ .”

“Atsumu,” Hinata corrected, “no offense, but I don’t think finding more pictures is going to somehow change the whole getting married thing.”

Atsumu stared at him; Hinata stared back.

Then, Atsumu sat down hard, legs practically collapsing as he fell back on the semi-destroyed couch. “Shit.”

Hinata nodded emphatically.

Atsumu blinked, sounding dazed. “Wait what do you mean  _ more _ pictures?”

Hinata handed him the rest of the bag, along with the certificate, the receipt and the picture that rested ominously inside.

In the last thirty minutes, when he wasn’t pinching himself to make sure this wasn’t a weirdly vivid dream brought up by stress about Brazil, Hinata had spent way too much time staring at that picture, presumably taken at the--the wedding?

The thing was they didn’t even look drunk--which probably explained why any reasonable person allowed either of them to go through with it. Their clothes were still nice, cheeks a little flushed, hair just slightly messy.

But, mostly, they just looked….happy.

The Hinata of the photograph was lit up, staring up at Atsumu with an expression that Hinata usually only associated with scoring a winning spike right at the top of the world. And Atsumu was looking back the same way, eyes bright and smile a bit goofy.

The Atsumu of the present stared down at the photo for a few seconds before firmly setting it aside to focus on the rest of the bag.

Then, he saw the receipt and let out a sound that Hinata had heard from a dying cat once. “What the fuck? What kind of wedding only costs 14 thousand yen?”

Hinata laughed, high and super close to manic, because of everything, Atsumu said  _ this  _ like it was the most outrageous.

“A cheap one,” Hinata answered.

“A  _ super  _ cheap one,” Atsumu said, outrage on their past selves’ behalf. Then, his expression cleared. He sat down the certificate gently, patting it after he did like confirming it was actually there. “We….we got married last night, didn’t we? For real.”

Hinata smiled awkwardly, giving a short shrug. “It looks like it.”

Atsumu ran a hand through his hair, pulling until the top parts were almost standing straight up.

“What are we going to do,” Hinata prompted.

“We’re….,” Atsumu leaned back, blinked. “We’re going to order takeout.”

Hinata stared. “What?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu nodded suddenly, reaching for the hotel guide. “You’re hungover, I’m  _ very  _ hungover. I just found out my wedding costs less than my train ticket down here. We’re going to order the cheapest, greasiest food we can find and, then, we’re going to figure this the fuck out.” He looked up at Hinata. “That work?”

Hinata thought that greasy food suddenly sounded like the best idea in the entire world.

“Okay.” He nodded. “Let’s do this.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


\-------

Wars could be fought for the love of cheap takeout food. Atsumu was sure of it.

But, for the morning, Atsumu was content with slurping down enough noodles that he finally started to feel like a living person again rather than a hangover given sentience and a fucking killer service ace.

By the way Hinata was practically moaning over his bowl--and didn’t that tug at some kind of memories?--he assumed he felt the same way. They’d found and somewhat saved their super wrinkled clothes and they’d secured food. Further proof that Atsumu was, in fact, a genius and could handle little things like accidental marriages.

He figured he’d start off subtle.

“So, divorce,” Atsumu threw out casually, “want one?”

Hinata looked at him like he was crazy.

“Okay, cool.” Atsumu moved on. “So, next question, how do we get one?”

Hinata stuck his chopsticks in his bowl, tipping his head back and frowning like he was thinking hard. “We probably have to….file something? With the government?”

“Great, yeah,” Atsumu said, “Like what?”

Hinata shrugged apologetically. “No clue, I’ve never been married before.”

“And I have?” Atsumu gestured wildly over his noddles. “What, you think drunk marriages are like my weekend hobby or something?”

Hinata bit down on a laugh. “Maybe?”

Oh, what a little shit. Atsumu should’ve remembered that. Ain’t no way a guy that could pull off quicks like that couldn’t be a bit of a shit. Atsumu knew that close and personally.

He flicked his chopsticks at Hinata. “Hardy har har, well, bad news, last night was actually my first wedding, so feel lucky!”

Hinata hummed, considering. “My parents are divorced.”

“Sorry?” Atsumu tried before going straight for blunt. “How’d they do it, though?”

“I don’t really remember.” Hinata sighed, rubbing at his head. “I was like ten.” He paused. “But, it can’t be that hard, right? If signing some papers is what got us into this; then, that’s probably all we need to do to get out of it, right?”

Atsumu nodded. “Definitely. That sounds right” He scrunched up his nose. “Shit, it’s Saturday. I bet all the offices and stuff are closed. Okay, so, we go on Monday, find  _ someone  _ and they can--”

Hinata was looking guilty. “Um….”

“What,” Atsumu narrowed his eyes, “I swear if you tell me you’re pregnant or something, I’m done for the day. This morning’s been weird enough already without biological miracles. No fast food in the world is getting over that.” 

Hinata rolled his eyes, ears red. “Nah, I’m kind of leaving for Brazil.” A beat. “Tomorrow, I’m leaving for Brazil tomorrow. For two years.”

Atsumu stared.

Hinata winced and started to talk faster. “I can’t cancel my ticket! It was expensive enough already and I couldn’t afford the flight insurance. Plus, my stuff already got shipped there last week. And there’s Coach Lucio and he wanted me to meet everyone Monday and--”

“Hold up! Wait! Stop!” Atsumu held up a hand to try to stop the onslaught that was taking place against this poor abused brain. “Back up, you’re going to Brazil?”

Hinata nodded. 

“To play volleyball,” Atsumu asked.

Hinata nodded again, this time giving him a look like  _ duh  _ which, yeah, honestly fair.

“Why,” Atsumu asked and why the fuck did he feel oddly betrayed that he didn’t know about this already. 

He was hooked up to the volleyball gossip, too, right? Shit, he was on the same team with Bokuto. How had he not heard about this yet? Wasn’t it common decency to warn a guy when that one middle blocker they’d played like twice against suddenly decided to fuck off halfway across the world? Basic courtesy, that was what that was, everyone knew that. 

Osamu better not already know. 

“I’m going to play beach volleyball,” Hinata helped him out. “Well, and practice with an indoor team. That way I don’t get rusty.”

“Why,” Atsumu repeated. Because Hinata was one of the fastest spikers Atsumu had ever seen--maybe the fastest--and yeah, his serves were still kind of shit; but, that didn’t explain why he was casually uprooting his life to move to  _ Brazil. _

Hinata met his eyes, the lightness melting away to reveal that scary fire that shot straight to Atsumu’s gut, reminding him  _ exactly  _ what it felt like to be staring it down from across a net.

“Because I need to get better at everything,” Hinata said simply.

….and, okay, fuck, Atsumu’s palms felt kind of sweaty and he didn’t know if that weird jolt was wired into  _ excited-volleyball  _ area feelings or just horny; but, either way, he was still waaaaay too hungover for this.

And he needed to refocus. 

“Alright,” Atsumu said. “So, you’ll be in Brazil--”

“Rio,” Hinata supplied.

“ _ Rio,”  _ Atsumu added with a huff, “and I’ll be figuring out what all paperwork we have to sign to forget this ever happened.”

“I can still help,” Hinata rushed to add, “I’m not going to just leave you with this or anything. We can still totally figure this out! It’s just some papers! We can mail it back and forth or...or email it? And--”

“Yeah, yeah,” Atsumu reassured, waving off the worry. “We’ll figure it out. I send the papers to you. You sign them. And,  _ boom _ , divorced. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” Hinata said, finally giving a small grin which Atsumu returned.

There, see, they got this. No one ever had to know.

Shit. Which reminded him.

“Hey, Hinata,” Atsumu kicked at his foot where the other had gone back to eating.

“Shouyou,” Hinata said. “If I’m calling you Atsumu, you should call me Shouyou.”

“‘Kay, Shouyou.” Atsumu shrugged, ignoring the way Hinata went pink even if he was  _ literally  _ the one who just told him to call him that. “What if we….didn’t tell anyone about this? Like ever? That could work, right?”

Hinata blinked slowly. “You want to keep it a secret?”

“Yeeaaah?” Atsumu said, voice ending high in a question.

Oh, crap, was there like some unspoken rule of accidental marriages? Was that rude or something? Did Hinata actually  _ want  _ to tell people about the absolute dumbest night of Atsumu’s entire life? Ah, fuck--

He was cut off by Hinata sighing in relief. “Yes,  _ absolutely!  _ That would be awesome, thanks!”

Atsumu’s panic attack derailed. “Really?”

Hinata nodded rapidly. “Of course! I’m pretty sure half my friends think I’m going to starve or die or something with the whole Brazil thing. And that’s when I’ve been trying to be responsible all year. If they knew about  _ this,  _ they’d freak out! Coach Washijo would kill me!” Hinata shuddered, going pale. “Or  _ worse,  _ he might pull his recommendation.”

Atsumu only had about half a clue what the later part meant; but, fuck it, that sounded like a win!

And it only helped the one thing he totally did get was the whole responsibility thing. His MSBY team would give him shit for months. Shit, his old Inarizaki team could  _ never  _ know if Atsumu wanted even his minor-almost-and-definitely-begrudging classification as a fully functioning adult outside the realms of a volleyball court.

Yeah, that was a big fat fucking  _ no.  _ He’d worked hard enough already to fake like he had his life even marginally together; no way was he handing out proof to the contrary now.

And, most of all, Osamu could  _ never  _ find out.

That didn’t even bear thinking about.

“Atsumu?” Hinata’s voice drew him out of his thoughts.

Atsumu looked up. “Huh?”

“So, we’re not telling people,” Hinata repeated. “About the…,” a hand wave, “you know?”

Atsumu nodded. “Yeah, we’re not telling people.”

Hinata beamed. “Awesome.”

Yeah. Awesome.

And, what do you know, for the first time Atsumu actually felt kinda grateful Hinata was his accidental husband.

Urgh.

Yeah, no, that  _ word  _ still felt too weird.

Trying again. Atsumu was really glad that of all the people he could’ve drunk married, it ended up being Hinata--who was apparently going to be exactly as cool about all this as Atsumu had decided to be.

“Awesome,” Atsumu repeated, “so, uhhhh….”

The takeout food had been demolished and all that was left was the awkward silence of two people suddenly realizing they had no freaking clue what they were supposed to be talking about that didn’t revolve around divorce, volleyball, or hooking up.

Hinata stood up jerkily, then, grimaced because, right, they were still super hungover. “I should go back to Kenma’s. I still need to finish packing.”

“Oh. Right.” Atsumu stood up, too.

He had no idea who Kenma was supposed to be; but, an end to the most awkward morning to ever exist was a gift he could kiss Hinata for if not for the hundreds of reasons that would be a terrible idea.

“Um, my number.” Hinata grabbed a notepad and scrawled something there. “Here. I don’t know how much service I’ll have tomorrow; but, after….”

“Yeah,” Atsumu took the paper robotically, “I’ll call you. I’ll find my phone and I’ll call you. Then, we can get this sorted out.”

“Cool,” Hinata said.

“Cool,” Atsumu said back.

“I’ll just….,” Hinata pointed at the door, “I guess….later?”

“Okay.” Atsumu paused. “Have a safe flight.”

Fuck, ugh, why was Atsumu suddenly the lamest person on Earth.

“Ah….yeah, thanks. I will.” Hinata bobbed his head.

“Bye, Atsumu.” Hinata turned to the door, throwing a half-hearted wave behind him. “Talk to you soon.”

“Yep,” Atsumu agreed. 

The door shut like the cutting of a string and Atsumu listened as the sound of footsteps faded down the hall.

Atsumu still wanted a full second before letting himself slide down the kitchen counter and bury his face in his hands and have the freak out he really, really needed right now.

“Shit.”

\-------

Hinata made it as far as the elevator before he knocked his head forward to rest against the wall.

“Well, fuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys, thanks for reading! This story basically came about because of my love of this pairing, the accidental marriage trope, and the trope where no one believes two people are actually dating. What came out of it was this so hope ya'll enjoy. Later chapters will be longer and the timeline should spread from here to the 2021 Olympics.
> 
> Always feel free to find me on Tumblr: https://greycappedjester.tumblr.com/


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